I raise my glass to the only divine lover;
I drink to the dregs the wine he may offer.
There is no taste I prefer to his presence;
my eyes have no light save his effulgence.
I have no motion but for his rhythm:
all life springs from his ancient whim.
Hunger gnaws daily until beauty’s embrace-
all thirst is for sight of his compassionate face.
My tears are a lake I would gladly drown in,
but for the pity induced by such a sin.
My only hope is the pain of despair:
I will not find him until I forsake all care.
Darvish has no friend but the deep blue sky;
Yet, what he loves, always remains close by.
